


shown in the shaking

by CloudCover (RainyForecast)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2006-2007 NHL Season, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rookies, Scent Marking, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 10:38:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18207275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/CloudCover
Summary: The first time he catches Malkin’s scent after he makes his way to the United States at last, Sid's almost bowled over by it.





	shown in the shaking

 

 

Sid has always been more sensitive than most when it comes to chemosignals– to the point where it can be borderline problematic because he can pick up every scrap of resentment or jealousy or hatred someone might feel towards him, no matter how masked.

The first time he catches Malkin’s scent after he makes his way to the United States at last, he’s almost bowled over by it.

He’s just walked into the opulent foyer at Mario’s, when he gets a lungful– stale airplane air and too many other people, and underneath that, thick, cloying exhaustion, sharp anxiety, and something that hits the back of Sid’s throat like loneliness, but not quite.

It’s enough to make him involuntarily whimper in sympathy, human shape notwithstanding.

When Malkin jerks his head up at the sound and catches sight of him, his scent floods with something else. Excitement, nerves, relief. It’s heady and dizzying. Sid wishes he were shifted, so things would be easy, and he could say hello like wolves do. Human, he can’t give in to the sudden, overwhelming impulse he has to bury his face in Malkin’s neck, to lick at his face until that soft mouth parts in a smile.

“Human words, Sid,” Mario says with a smile, and Sid swallows, and greets Malkin as normally as he can, his instincts raging against the inadequate human formality of a handshake.

Happiness, even laced with exhaustion, smells so good on Malkin that Sid can barely stand it.

 

***

 

That bitter basenote to Malkin’s scent remains, even after “Malkin” becomes “Geno,” and the season gets underway. It’s the least noticeable when he’s talking to Gonchar in Russian and it’s absolutely awful when there’s a big group of people around him, noisily talking and joking in English while he sits silent and confused.

Geno reflexively smiles and even laughs at times like that, even though he probably doesn’t know what’s being said. But it never reaches his eyes, or his scent.

It’s making Sid crazy. His instincts hate it and he’s constantly trying to tamp them down, keep things normal. He’s too wolfish for most people as it is, even other weres. The last thing he needs to be doing is scaring off their brand new Russian phenom before he’s even properly settled in. But he yearns to touch Geno: to play-tussle and to lick his face, to curl around him in sleep. Anything to make that awful edge leave his scent and the lost look leave his eyes.

Alienation, he realizes with a start one day, watching Geno’s expression go soft and frightened at a reporter firing off questions before the interpreter is ready to translate. That sharp bite to Geno’s scent is alienation.

He can’t control himself anymore. He plunks himself next to Geno, pressing their sides together. Geno glances at Sid from the corners of his eyes a few times, body held tight and heartbeat fast.

“Okay?” Sid asks.

Geno slumps, ducking his head like he’s about to lay it on Sid’s shoulder but stops himself.

“Okay,” he says quietly. Sid sits with him until the interview is over.

 

***

 

Shifting is considered a private affair, and Sidney is more private about it than most. He doesn’t like that his emotions are harder to hide, that his impulse control slips. And, above all, he can’t play hockey on four legs.

He almost never shifts on the road. Hotel rooms stink of strong cleaners, too many other people, and things he doesn’t want to think about.

But it’s hard the first road trip they have that coincides with the full moon. He feels the tug of it throughout the entire flight, the recycled plane air concentrating his teammate’s scents. He wants to fight, play and, damn it, snuggle. Geno most of all, still smelling lost and alone.

Flower sighs at him and ruffles his hair. Sid lets himself lean into him, and that helps.

They get in late. Winnipeg is as cold and unappealing as it always is. Everything is okay until after dinner, when the moon rises. Sid is trying to settle, idly flipping channels while Army calls his wife.

He keeps running his tongue over his teeth. His canines are sharp, poking into his lip. He’s probably going to have to shift tonight, like it or not. He’s not looking forward to the barrage of unpleasant hotel smells.

He’s just yawning and wondering if maybe he can just will himself to fall asleep, when faint but clear as day, a howl cuts through the hotel background noise like a knife blade.

It’s the most achingly mournful thing Sid has ever heard, and he makes an involuntary whining sound.

He’s stripping his clothes off before he quite knows what he’s doing, shifting and leaping off the bed to scrabble at the door until Army laughs and opens it for him.

“Go get him, Creature,” he tells Sid fondly, and Sid bolts down the hallway, sniffing at doors until he finds the one that smells right. He scratches at it and whines. It’s quiet behind the door for a long moment, then there’s a pained whimper and a thump as someone jumps off a bed. There’s an answering scratching on the other side of the door, and another whimper that makes Sid’s heart feel like it’s splitting in half.

He paces back and forth in front of the door. Intellectually, he knows he needs to shift so that he can open the door, but between the moon and the pent up frustration of scenting Geno’s distress for weeks now, it’s too much, and he’s not sure he can manage it at the moment.

His ears prick. There’s a noisy group of guys coming down the hall. He can hear Talbo, who’s rooming with Geno. He whine-yowls and presses his nose to the bottom of the door. Hang in there, he wants to tell Geno.

“What’s this?” Talbo says in surprise, taking in Sid. He cocks his head to one side. “Sid, is that you? Awww. So  _fluffy_!”

Sid growls, deep in his chest. Right, this is why he hates being shifted around people who aren’t. Even other weres treat him like a puppy.

Talbo, thankfully, starts to unlock the door, even as he asks Sid if “little Geno has fallen down the well, Lassie?”

You’re a werewolf too, Sid wants to tell him. Can it with the dog jokes. But instead he just rolls his eyes and tenses in anticipation of the door opening.

When it swings open Geno practically tumbles out, as skinny and rangy as a wolf as he is human. He’s all over Sid, whining and licking at his muzzle, dropping to the floor to roll over and show his belly, his eyes so big and brown and hurting that Sid just flops down on top of him. I’m here, he says by weighing Geno down. Shh.

Talbo laughs and steps over them. “Kids these days!”

Sid growls at him, and makes a decision. He gets up and prods at Geno with his muzzle until Geno gets up too. Sid herds him down the hall to his and Army’s room. Army has helpfully left the door propped open, and Sid muscles Geno in and paws up the doorstop to close it.

Army is watching some action movie on TV, and he barely raises an eyebrow at Geno’s presence. 

“No howling, Creature,” he says blandly, and goes back to his movie, turning it down a little for the benefit of Sid and Geno’s shifted ears.

Sid lets his instincts rise to the forefront and considers Geno, and the room. His bed. That’s where his scent is strongest and he wants his scent all. Over. Geno.

More prodding and chivvying until Geno takes a giant leap with his gangly stork legs and Sid jumps up onto the bed after him. They tussle for a moment, play-fighting until their growling gets a little too loud and Army interjects a mild “Chill out, boys,” from the other bed.

Sid plops down on top of Geno again, holding him down and nuzzling and licking at his neck and ears until he smells happy and calm and like  _them_.

They fall asleep like that, tangled up together in a snarl of blankets and sheets.

 

***

 

Sid wakes up human. The morning light is snow-bright through the curtains, and Geno is curled into him, head on Sid’s shoulder.

Some shift in Sid’s breathing or heartbeat must wake Geno up, because his eyes slowly blink open. His scent blooms with contentment and he sighs, throwing a long arm across Sid’s torso and burying his face in Sid’s neck. Sid runs his fingers through his soft, shaggy brown hair, taking in his long eyelashes and cute, funny nose, sliding his hand over the smooth skin of his shoulders and back.

Mine, his instincts say to him. The shouldering of a heavy responsibility rather than some kind of grasping possession.

He stares at the ceiling still stroking his fingers through Geno’s hair. He’s been offered the C, and he’s turned it down. He knows they’re going to ask him again. He hadn’t felt ready. He’d felt like a fraud. A captain, an alpha of a pack, was protector and guardian, arbitrator and comforter. He hadn’t felt like he had anything in him to offer the older, more experienced guys on the team.

This moment, Geno’s comforted scent strong in his nose, is the first time he thinks that maybe, when they ask again, he’s going to say yes.

He’s been able to help Geno. Sid had been enough, after all.

Taking care of Geno feels right. Being Geno’s alpha would feel right.

Geno yawns, smiling sweetly at him, and nuzzles into his neck. Everything is still and peaceful for a moment. Then Sid feels Geno smirk against his skin, and before he can react, Geno licks a broad, ticklish stripe up Sid’s neck.

Sid yelps, and pushes him away. Geno’s grin is blinding as he shoves closer. They tussle, pushing and kicking, Sid almost falling off the bed. Geno grabs a pillow and pulls back his arm to whack at Sid with it, trying and failing to stifle a fit of breathless laughter.

“Oh my fucking god, pups,” Army groans from the other bed. “It’s _ass o’clock_  in the morning in fucking Winnipeg, go back to  _sleep_.”

Geno raises his eyebrows impishly and makes as if to whack Sid with the pillow anyway. Sid soundlessly bares his teeth.

Geno mutters something uncomplimentary sounding in Russian, but drops the pillow and flops dramatically onto Sid with a gusty sigh and a put-upon pout.

Sid closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth and weight of another body on his. He scents Geno idly, feeling pleased and proud that Geno smells only of sleep, and contentment, and Sid.

He knows that one full moon night of rough-housing and cuddling isn’t going to fix everything. Geno still doesn’t speak English, he’s still far away from his home and his family. But Sid is going to do his best to be there for him from now on.

“I think we’re gonna be okay, both of us,” he murmurs quietly into Geno’s hair. Geno says something back to him, and it sounds almost sweet.

“Let’s go back to sleep, eh?”

“Sleep, bacon.”

“Yeah bud, sleep, then bacon.”

Something brushes Sid’s hair. For a moment, Sid wonders if Geno just…kissed him?

But sleep is pulling on him, and he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it before he’s under.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me as [knifeshoeoreofight](http://knifeshoeoreofight.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and as @RainyForecast on Twitter. Come say hi!


End file.
